The Red Phoenix
by 2DaughtersOfAthena
Summary: Hermione likes Fred, but she seems to be getting some conflicting signals. Can she deal with Fred's jokes when her emotions are on the line?


**Houses Competition, AU.**

 **Ravenclaw, HoH, Themed, Prompt: Going on a date, WC: 3118**

 **0-0-0-0**

"He likes you. I'm sure of it," Ginny tells me conspiratorially. It's strange to hear her talking about her brother in this way – the way that entails him dating me. Almost horrifying, but equally thrilling. "You can't wait around for him to ask you out though, he's a sissy."

"Ginny!" I protest, laughing in spite of myself. "He asked Angelina out for the Yule Ball in seconds. I really don't think he does like me." Together, we look in the direction of Fred Weasley, across the other side of the Burrow downstairs living space. He's peeling carrots with George, talking to his twin as though discussing some secret plan. They've always got something going on, those two. The redheads almost touching in their scheming. "Plus, we'd never work. We're far too different."

"Opposites attract…" Ginny sings ominously as Harry stumbles into the room carrying a plate of steaming mince pies. She blows on one and allows Harry to put it in her open mouth. I tsk, disgusted but pleased that they're getting on well again. "Iss reawlly gwood. Dwyo you wan' one?" I shake my head, scowling in mock horror. Harry pinches one for himself and slides onto the couch beside Ginny. The room is decorated for Christmas, which is three days away. Streams of lights, oranges hanging from the huge evergreen in the middle of the room, and baubles stuck on the ceiling. It's a little different from my muggle decorations, but I think I love it even more.

Ginny and Harry start talking to each other and feels like it's my time to leave. I turn in the direction of the stairs, thinking of reading or something equally quiet. It's late, but I don't think I could get away with going to bed just yet. That would feel wrong. Sometimes, though, it seems as though this house is occupied by loud and brilliant people, meaning I feel very lost in them.

"Hermione, hey," a voice says from behind me as I reach the stairs. They grab my wrist. "Where are you going? Are you okay?" I sigh internally.

"Fred," I murmur. "Yeah, fine thanks." The uneasiness of discomfort rests in me despite my words. "I was just going to do some reading for a while – everyone is pretty busy elsewhere." He frowns. "What's up?"

When Fred Weasley smiles, it usually lights up the entire room – as though he is an actual entity that acts as the sun in its absence. This time, however, there's something different about it. Something off in his eyes, the smile almost melancholy. I'm about to ask him what's really going on, when George calls from the kitchen, requesting his brother's presence. In this tiny space by the stairs, no one can see, and no one knows we've shared this small moment. Fred squeezes my hand slightly, and he lets go. For several seconds, I stare after him; at his retreating back, at the time I swear he's going to turn in my direction, and his bright hair as he turns around a corner. My hand tingles.

I don't dare to tell Ginny about it – because what would I say? Instead, I lay awake for the next two nights, thinking about Fred Weasley and this inexplicable chemistry between us. Lying, awake, thinking about how totally wrong we are for each other. Lying, awake, thinking that I wish my heart felt the same as my head. But Merlin knows that will never happen. Fred hardly speaks to me the day after that, only in teasing when Ron accidentally changes my hair blue. Except, I catch him looking at me. As I gradually undid the blue-hair spell, I saw him in the mirror, as though he was caught in thought. But he turned away.

It's Christmas Day. The Burrow is filled with laughter and the smell of food, the air practically glowing orange in the firelight. I've managed to avoid most people for a lot of the day, claiming to be hiding away with reports I have to file when I return to work. Yet, I spend half the time upstairs thinking over the strange moment with Fred and me on the stairs.

A knock on the door disturbs my thoughts.

"Come in," I call. "Oh."

"Not pleased to see me, Miss Granger?" Fred Weasley asks, stepping into the room, all grins and breathlessness. I groan internally because why him. Freckles, red hair, tall. Rebellious in most senses of the word. Completely and utterly opposite to me. Why did I have to get butterflies every single time? "I'll take your silence as a yes. Dinner's ready."

Before I can holler my thanks, Fred is whipping out of the room and racing down the stairs in just a childlike fashion as a six-year-old. Not a surprise to me in the slightest. I follow him, closing the door behind me, and managing to make it to the table third out of everyone, meaning my seat is pretty good. Closest to the cranberry sauce, which is my eternal goal for Christmas dinner. The rabble starts as soon as people begin to argue over the Turkey and exactly how much food they are allowed to pile onto their plates.

"Hermione dear, I didn't realise you'd come down," Mrs Weasley comments, fighting George for the roast potatoes. "I was going to call you." I glance over the food at Fred for a moment, who catches my eye, and suddenly I understand. He looks away, laughing at Ron who has accidentally poured bread-sauce all over his lap. Fred slipped away without their notice. Still, no one knows about this unspeakable bond. I guess that's why they call it unspeakable. I feel like, already, there is a secret in the house.

"I smelt the food," I laugh lightly, covering up for Fred.

"How's the report coming, Hermione?" Percy asks me, passing the carrots as he does so, and I'm thrown into a conversation about Ministry policy, which occasionally is butted in by Harry and Ron who argue their part for the Auror department. Much to Percy's chagrin.

Minutes and hours chase themselves in circles. I find myself watching the clock all too much early on in the day, then break out the red wine my mother had me bring to the Burrow this year. Nostalgia crashes over me. No one asks for the wine, opting for their wizard drinks. But I notice them watching the alcohol in the bottle decreasing, and my eyes growing blurry as the night goes on. We laugh together, play games, and talk late until the moon has risen and fallen halfway back horizon. 3am, and George finally gives in to Fred's Wizard Chess expertise.

"Hermione, do you fancy a game?"

I glance over. "Sure."

"Well if you guys are gonna play chess, I'm going to bed," Ron says, the final buffer getting up to leave. "Night you two. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

Fred salutes, and I smile up at Ron.

Tension is the first thing I notice. Technically, Fred and I haven't been in a room together without other people ever. He usually has George, and I'm usually attached to two bumbling idiots known as Harry and Ron. Fred sets up the chess while I wait, holding the half-empty wine glass for a little support. He grins sheepishly at me. My face gets very hot for a moment.

"You're blushing," he comments.

"Shut up." I put down the wine glass and sit up straighter. Now I have to win.

"Tell me about yourself, Miss Granger."

"You're being ridiculous."

The game continues in this fashion, and eventually, we're not aware of the shouting laughter and the storytelling that should have woken the house if not for the muffliato charm cast over us by yours truly. I don't think I've ever laughed so much in my entire life, as Fred tells me about the time that he and George managed to persuade Mrs Weasley that Ron had accidentally transfigured himself into a cockroach. He listens to the stories about muggle state school, and doesn't tease when I accidentally let slip that I'd never really had friends before Hogwarts – and, even then, it had been difficult.

"But it's alright, because I'm surrounded by amazing people," I say, moving my last remaining knight to take down his bishop. The knight swipes his joust at the bishop's knees, who then trips over his long robe. "Ha! Sorry, not sorry."

"You are an enigma," Fred murmurs, "wrapped in a daydream."

My breath catches.

"Does that really work? On the ladies, I mean," I amend.

"I'm not trying to woo you, Hermione," he laughs riotously, and I instantly feel idiotic. Because of course not. Why would he want to? "If I was, you'd know."

This confuses me. If he was wooing me, then I would know. That's what he was suggesting. But I have no idea what's going on half the time around him. Sometimes it feels as though we're the only people in the world, and he can't help but make me feel special. Other times it feels like he couldn't care less whether I stood on a couch or was living in Australia. And I thought I knew. Turns out, I know nothing, and everything thus far is a deception. A deception of my mind, or a deception on his part, I have no clue. It's bugging me.

"Checkmate," I say dully, lost in thought. Fred curses colourfully when he realises that he's lost. I know he's thinking about the game, about how he could have deceived me into making different steps and allowing him to win. "Good game, Mr Weasley."

"Hey," he interrupted my getting up, frowning. "Are you okay? Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you up so late." He pauses. "I thought we were having fun."

"Fred, do you like me?"

"What?"

I sit down in the chair opposite him again, trying to ignore the chess battlefield between 's confused. Frowning even though he must know what I'm talking about. My heart thumps painfully in my chest, making me all-too-aware of my undeniable attraction to him. God, I sound pathetic. The flood of anxiety threatens to spill over from every pore.

"Do you like me," I struggle out again, almost breathless from the effort of it. "Bloody hell, I just want to know so can you quit it with the silence please."

He swallows. "Sorry, I'm just shocked." Pause. "You like me?"

"I asked you first."

"That's very childish."

"You would know."

"Ouch," Fred laughs, then stops at my expression. "Yes."

A flurry of emotions hit me at once. Shock first. That moment of what is happening, followed by the breathlessness returned again because how is this happening. But then the seeping in of happiness because he likes me. Before I can get too carried away, I notice he's staring at me taking it all in, and I think about doubt. He's never really expressed anything like that before, and he's usually so confident with these things. What's different with me? Is this all just a game? I don't know.

"Do you actually mean that?" My voice betrays me, cracking.

"Why should I not?" he asks, frowning again. "Hermione, what's going on? Did I do something to upset you, because I didn't mean to." I don't answer, but he continues on, regardless. "I'm sorry, I'm no good at this. I… Listen, did you want to go for a drink sometime? Or lunch? If you don't like me like that, then it's fine, no pressure. Bloody hell, I'm babbling like a weirdo. I'll stop."

I stumble over the words in my head. Lunch, and drink, and whatever the heck else he said. "Like a date?"

"If you want."

Between Fred's three words, and my heading to bed, I'm not entirely sure what happens or what was said, but I understand that is has been somewhat agreed that Fred and I are going on a date. Which is absolutely terrifying. What's almost worst is the way he proceeds to treat me in the days that follow our strange, orange-tinted evening playing chess. We hardly speak, although I understand that this is partly my fault. He spends time inventing with George, while I watch Harry and Ron do their thing and try not to wish I was somewhere else. I'm certain George doesn't know, and increasingly concerned that it never happened at all.

But then the owl comes to my window, in his scrawling, messy handwriting.

3pm, tomorrow, meet me by the willow tree.

I sigh as the fluttering butterflies of happiness and anxiety fill me immediately.

"Why the willow tree?" I ask, having donned jeans, a shirt, and a thick jacket at 3pm the next day. Fred's standing just two feet away from me, in a geometric print sweater and jeans, looking completely normal. He's grinning in Cheshire-cat fashion, holding out his arm for me.

"Willow trees are excellent. Why not?" He laughs jovially as I take his arm. It's sort of unnerving to be honest. "Did you tell anyone where you were going?"

"No, I just said that I was going out." Fred nods and mutters a smiling 'good'. "Is that what I should have said, Fred? Because I'm a bit confused here."

"Of course that's fine," he says, looking down at me. For a moment, things are normal - well as normal as they can be in the crazy world I live in - and he reaches out his other hand to brush aside a flyaway tendril of hair. His fingers rest on my cheek for half a moment, before we are suddenly looking away from each other again and Fred is blabbering, "Well, we better go. Prepare to apparate!"

We are pulled through the violent, twisting vacuum that is apparition, clutching onto each other for balance and some semblance of sanity as our faces stretch and alter. Yet, somehow, Fred is still smiling and doesn't look a bit sick. So I try my best to muster a similar expression of uncaring joy. It's surprisingly and insanely difficult. I'm far too concerned about what I'm wearing, what he thinks of me, and a million other entirely ridiculous things.

"Here we are," he says, as we manifest in the middle of a restaurant. No one looks up, so I can assume that it's a Wizarding Restaurant. Yet, there are more people in jeans and dresses than robes we would normally see in Diagon Alley. "The Red Phoenix. Quiet most at 3pm, somewhere near the Welsh border. Casual or muggle attire." Fred grins as the maitre d' comes over, shaking Fred's hand.

"Mr Weasley? Your table is ready."

Over lunch, I quickly become confused rather than amused again.

I am subject to a number of small pranks throughout the course. We start with garlic bread, as Fred suggests, which turns out to have mint on it. I don't say anything, because I'm British and Fred is extremely entertaining, asking me a number of things I would never have expected of him. But after that, things seem to take a turn for the worst. Fred performs card tricks, with my chosen card appearing at the bottom of my cup of hot chocolate. He laughs when I discover my sandwich and salad are completely made out of rubber, then all-too-obviously hands the waiter two galleons, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

"What the hell is happening?" I mutter to myself, hands tingling. I take another sip of drink, but the tingling only intensifies. Looking down, I gasp in horror. My hands! Much like the wicked witch of the west, my fingers, knuckles, palms, are slowly turning a vivid green. I glare at the drink, assuming that it must be something in it that caused this awful affliction. Horrified, the tingling expands to my forearms, my chest, and my face. "Is my face green?"

"What?" But he's laughing behind his perplexed façade. "No, it's just your hands. Your face is fine."

"I don't believe you. Excuse me for a moment please."

With that, I get up and rush to the bathroom.

He's right, my face isn't green. I wash it with water anyway, slightly infuriated over the goings on. It feels like I'm walking on eggshells and I'm supposed to be having a nice time. Everything is a deception of sorts and I can't rest. I don't know what's real and what's going to cause me pain - or greenness - and what's going to embarrass me in front of so many people. Rubber food, weird garlic bread, green hands. Is it wrong of me to totally suspect Fred? Because I do.

"Hey, sorry about that," I say, moving to sit down.

PFFFFHAAAAAAARRRRRRRPPP.

A fart noise rips through the restaurant, coming from my seat. Everyone turns around to look at me. I stand up and see the whoopee cushion there, like an innocent little balloon. Instantly, I know it's him, and he knows he's gone too far. In a second, the balloon-like thing is thrown into his face with a smack and I'm collecting my things, leaving as quickly as I can. Too far, Fred. That was too far.

"Hermione!" he calls, jogging after me.

"What the hell was that all about?" I demand, almost incandescent with burning embarrassment. "The food, the drink, the whoopee cushion?"

"I -"

"No, it's fine! Save it," I mutter, turning away. "I knew you didn't actually like me." Cue the mildly bitter laugh.

"Hermione, that's not true -"

"Come on Fred, this is just another of your stupid games!" My voice breaks again, and I hate myself for it. "I don't want to be a part of it anymore. I can't do it. I like you, and I thought that you liked me too. Turns out that was a prank in itself. I'm not even sure I can bear to go back to the burrow, because everyone will be laughing at me and -"

Just like in one of those idiot romantic comedies, I'm cut off by a kiss. It's brief, but it does the trick. I'm completely stunned.

"I was so nervous," he starts, running a hand through his hair. "I thought I could be myself, but myself is an idiot. I wanted to impress you, and to make you laugh, but I went about it totally the wrong way." Fred sighs, frustrated with himself. "I don't know why you'd like me. Maybe I was trying to persuade you that I was a wrong choice and that you shouldn't be around someone who is so immature as I -"

I press a light kiss to his lips.

"Best mistake I ever made," he breathes, grinning.

 **0-0-0-0**

 **Thanks for reading!**


End file.
